HOMEGROWN RATATOUILLE

Not as pretty as it ended up on the plate, but damn y’all: the aroma!!!!

Winter nights are rough, y’all.  I’m a spring baby and ridiculously seasonal, meaning I may seem fine, but deep down inside I’m sobbing in my pillow like a child.  My grandma was like this, too—just cannot seem to get right in the colder months.  The cheese has done slid off my cracker.

Not every day is like this.  Just the sorta cold, slimy, gray ones.  Sincerely, it almost seems better for it to be outright freezing with a fire going than a day that just feels like yuck.  The holidays are stressful—but thankfully so, since it helps to make these dark days go by lickety-split.  I have curing pumpkins and butternut squash spilling over my countertops alongside bowls of late peppers that need to be canned or dried.  Oh, my kingdom for a proper pantry . . . sigh.  I washed the sheers in the kitchen, mopped the old floors, become overwhelmed by packets of seed scattered in strange corners, and finally . . . it hit me.  I’m a little blue.

Years ago, my hubs saw me sliding into blue land a little too deep and created a spring wonderland in my kitchen.  He had printed out every picture he could find of the flowers and vegetables I grew and pasted them in every space.  It worked.  But, this year, perhaps because of the political crap-fest we are all in, or perhaps because I’m just getting older, it’s gonna take a crowbar.  Ain’t gonna lie.

The podcast is helping.  I have to wrestle my ass to think deeply—it’s becoming almost shadow work, I reckon.  Except, really public.

But, that’s how I know that it’s time to cook—especially if I have copious amounts of veggies hanging out in the freezer! Whipping up kitchen magic not only helps me, it helps everyone around me.  Makes us comforted, fatter, and all-around more satiated.

So, let’s get to those kitchens!

Homegrown Ratatouille

Here we go again: I am not going to be able to give you perfect ratios.  Y’all need to learn to balance those.  One of my tricks is to cut my veggies up in equal amounts, then put them in the biggest bowl I have.  Once it’s full, there you have it.  You are shooting for a spaghetti-pot-size situation.

Eggplant
Yellow squash
Zucchini
Onions (purple tastes the best)
Whole San Marzano tomatoes (canned)
Shit-tons of garlic
At least a cup of delicious red wine
Chicken stock (at least one package, but grab two in case)
Chicken bouillon cubes
Smidge of sugar
Salt, pepper
Thyme (fresh if you have it)
Rosemary sprigs

Hokay.  Slice and cut your veggies in equal sizes.  Toss with olive oil, salt and pepper and scatter across a very large cookie sheet . . . or two.

Roast until lightly browned.  Now, watch this—your eggplant might do better on its own sheet, as it is spongy and acts an ass sometimes. In fact, I don’t toss the eggplant, but rather brush on the olive oil to assure a proper coating. 

Another note: throw your minced garlic in somewhere around the last five minutes.  Garlic burns quickly.

When ready and lightly browned, throw veggies into a larger pot and pour in at least one package (around two cups) of chicken stock. (You are looking to come almost to the top of the veggies, so add a bit more if not adequate.)  Add in two or three bouillon cubes (this elevates flavor, but until you know what you are doing, go with two and add the last one only if you are missing that deep-bone-chicken-love).  Plop in tomatoes with juices. Add that smidge of sugar (I’d have to show you this in person, but it’s about two teaspoons or so), your thyme bundle (or if dried, a teaspoon or so) and at least a cup of VERY nice red wine.  (The better the wine, the better the flavor.)  Top with two or three fresh rosemary sprigs over the whole thing.

Simmer a bit—do not boil—until the flavors marry and the leaves on the thyme bundle start to melt off into your cauldron.  On the regular, this ends up being about thirty minutes for me. I tend to do this uncovered—but if you are loosing too much liquid too quickly, cover this puppy up.

Up-to-you additions: marjoram is very nice in this—consider skipping the thyme in that case.
Vegetarian option: Use vegetable stock and bouillon.

Critical note: And I ain’t playing here.  Y’all have created a meatless dish, hopefully with love and magic and tasting your food as it goes along its merry way into heaven on a plate.  Do not skip the crusty French bread and the damn fine cheeses. *Do you* on those cheeses, but do be warned: this dish’s flavors could be lost against anything too sharp.  A lightly smoked Gouda, or perhaps a Havarti or a Munster, would be lovely.  Don’t forget to serve wine or, if you don’t drink. sparkling water to cleanse the palate.

(Hell naw, I ain’t gonna tell you what color wine.  This dish screams for red—but, in a pinch, I’ve enjoyed it with a crisp white.  It’s all about deeply nourishing your own desire here.)

The most important thing about cooking this, or any, dish? TASTE IT. If you want more salt, add it. If you would like that sugar elevated, add more. Don’t be chicken shit. Deeply involve yourself in your cooking, every single time.

Love y’all,
Seba